Wounds
by teaandtoves
Summary: "You're too messy of an eater, Sherlock," the tone was scolding, and Mycroft sighed as he dropped his hand. Vampire!Sherlock/John, unrequited Vampire!Mycroft/John, later on abuse
1. Chapter 1

Mycroft leaned in, and John stood still, ignoring the instinct to take a step back. Mycroft raised an eyebrow when John tensed, and reached for his neck, running his fingers over the scars that Sherlock had left.

"You're too messy of an eater, Sherlock," the tone was scolding, and Mycroft sighed as he dropped his hand, "You should have picked me, John. I don't feel the need to mark up my things, or run them to exhaustion. Sit down, you're about to collapse." John glanced over at Sherlock before letting himself be guided to the sofa. He sat down, making a soft sound in relief. Mycroft ruffled his hair, and John almost protested to being treated like a child, but Sherlock protested for him.

"Don't touch him, Mycroft. He's not yours." Sherlock sat in his chair, tapping his foot in impatience and irritation. "And we're not going."

"Mummy won't allow that."

"You'll have your fat, grubby hands all over John the entire time. I don't know how you got to be so fat without having a steady mate to feed off of. "

John sighed and got back up. He was much too tired to be dealing with the two brother's bickering. "I'm going to make some tea." He knew the explanation was not needed; both of the Holmes would know what he was doing, but John was too polite to just get up and leave without a word. He padded into the kitchen and put on the kettle.

"How many patients with simple anemia today, John?" Sherlock called in from the living room, "You would think that their partners would be able to tell, at least. Idiots, everyone."

John almost sighed. Sherlock had moved from arguing with to ignoring Mycroft. He took a deep breath. "At least half of them. As always, anemia from overfeeding is most of the cases that we get in the clinic."

Mycroft scoffed. "At least they aren't keeping their mate awake and starving almost constantly for a week in between working to pay the bills and cases, and then expecting them to still have enough energy for cleaning, sex and feeding."

John padded back into the living room with his cup of tea, noting that Mycroft had sat in John's own chair, and picked a spot on the sofa, closing his eyes. "Stop fighting. Mycroft, _why_ are you here?"

"The holidays are coming up."

John made a soft sound to indicate that he was listening.

"Sherlock is expected to show up at Mummy's hive with his mate."

John sighed and sipped his tea. While vampires like Sherlock and Mycroft preferred to live alone, in a more humanlike way, others preferred to live like the old vampires, in hives with a Queen or King. Sherlock and Mycroft's mother was the queen of a hive, and John had only met her once, during his and Sherlock's wedding, earlier that year.

John glanced at Sherlock, who looked at John pleadingly. _I don't want to go to Mummy's for the holidays…_

"I don't know any hive etiquette."

"You aren't expected to. Besides, you're much more polite than most of the people there."

"I was hoping that Sherlock and I could go see _my_ family."

"You're a terrible liar, John. You show all the signs of lying so readily. And we all know that you two were going to spend it here, together. No excuses." Mycroft turned back to Sherlock and John relaxed, taking another sip of his tea and closing his eyes. "Sherlock, you're going to go. Mummy told me that if you don't show up, she'll come and get you herself and we both know that it will not end well if that happens."

Mycroft stood up. "I will see you two then." He walked over to John and gently touched his cheek. "Get some rest, John. Don't let my brother run you into the ground."

John made a non-committal sound in response, and didn't open his eyes. He almost didn't want Mycroft to leave.

The hand pulled away, the umbrella at the door picked up, and Mycroft was gone.

Sherlock was on John seconds later.

John groaned. This was why he hadn't wanted Mycroft to go. Anytime after John saw Mycroft, Sherlock would essentially stake his claim on John, and John had absolutely no energy left. He pushed against Sherlock, turning his head away. "At least let me take a nap, first," he pleaded.

"No."

"Please?" John groaned softly.

"_No_. Strip."

John sighed, but put his tea down and complied, barely pulling off his jumper and shirt before Sherlock was on him again, holding him down and nuzzling his neck. "I won't take too much," he muttered before pushing his fangs into him. John let out a soft sigh and let Sherlock feed; the vampire hadn't eaten in a few days. Sherlock pulled away harshly, trying to leave another scar. John made a soft noise, the sudden pain surprising him. He cracked open an eye. "Go get the plasters," he muttered, pushing against Sherlock gently, feeling the blood drip down his neck. Sherlock pulled away, rummaging in the kitchen and pulling out a large plaster. He smiled when he saw John, almost fast asleep on the couch. He crawled over John again and licked up a bit more blood, before applying the band-aid. He picked up his tired mate and carried him to their bedroom, putting him down on the bed.

"You're mine…" he whispered softly as John snuggled under the covers. John made a soft sound of agreement, and Sherlock pulled away, leaving the room and pulling out his violin.

If there was one thing he liked about the way that vampires and humans had evolved together, it was that a human mate belonged to the first person they had sex with. Forever. It changed the chemistry of their brain. Vampires could change lovers if they wished, but humans were in bonded with whoever stole their virginity, human or vampire.

Even though he knew that John was his, he knew that John could just as easily have been Mycroft's. They had both been after John - Sherlock even knew that he had been _that_ close to losing him. Sherlock had come home to John and Mycroft kissing, blood dripping down John's neck and on Mycroft's lips, their hands wandering over each other. His presence had stopped Mycroft from taking John from him that night, and he had managed to win John in the end, but he had been _so_ close to losing him. He put down the violin after a final flourish of the bow and sighed. He supposed he should cook for John.

Sherlock put together a casserole from the food in the fridge and hopes it will taste alright. He didn't eat human food, although he was capable of doing so, and even if he did, it would just taste strange to him, not good or bad. Just odd.

Sherlock sat down in a chair and huffed. Now, he was bored, and he couldn't just wake John up. He pouted. John was going to get in trouble for having to sleep as much as he did. He stared at the ceiling, finding the imperfections.

And that's where John found him when he came downstairs, still tired, but less so, drawn in by the smell of food. He smiled and crawled into the pouting detective's lap. "You were so bored you cooked?"

Sherlock sat up and hugged John, nuzzling his neck. "Yes. You're very boring when you sleep." John chuckled softly and kissed Sherlock, before pulling away. "Well, let me have dinner and then I'll try to entertain you."

Sherlock followed John into the kitchen, encouraging him to eat quickly.

Later, they stumbled into bed, wrapped tightly around each other.

The next morning, Sherlock was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

It was Mycroft that finally told John. He had called, frantic after the third day that Sherlock was gone. It was Sherlock's brother that had to tell John that Sherlock had left him. He had come in person, and he watched as John sat down, taking deep breaths to keep from crying.

"Did he plan it?"

"I don't believe so." Mycroft did not sit down, "He just found someone interesting and… well, you know how he is."

John ran his fingers through his hair. "I do…" He composed himself and looked up at Mycroft. "I should have picked you, Mycroft. You wouldn't have done this to me."

Mycroft looked at him sadly. "No, I would never have left you."

John shook his head. "I just thought… that… Well, I thought wrong." He took a shaky breath. "I suppose that I should move out. It is Sherlock's flat-"

"If you don't want to move, you don't have to. I'll keep covering Sherlock's part of the rent. And if you'd like to move, you are welcome in my house," Mycroft interrupted. "Sherlock didn't deserve you."

John looked around the flat and kept himself from crying. "I'd like to stay, Mycroft… This is- was our home."

Mycroft just nodded. "My invitation is still open, if you change your mind."

Sherlock opened the door, walking into the flat. He was surprised at how clean it was; Mrs. Hudson must have dusted. He frowned when he saw that John's stuff was still here. He must have moved out in a hurry. Mycroft had said that John had moved out, and there was no reason to go back to 221B, but Sherlock had wanted to see it again before the last of his stuff was collected and he moved somewhere else. Sherlock gently touched John's armchair. He missed John. Mycroft refused to tell him where he was now, although Sherlock knew he could eventually pull it out of his brother. It would be harder than normal; Mycroft was protective of John, more-so now.

Sherlock sighed and walked into the kitchen, jumping with surprise when a bat swung out to hit him. He reached up and caught it- not enough force and too slow to be swung by a vampire, therefore a human, most likely male. But what was he doing in his flat? A burglary?

Sherlock pulled the bat out of the man's hands, throwing it to the side and grabbing the man's wrists, pushing him up against the wall and pinning him there. The man struggled against Sherlock, who twisted the man's right wrist until it broke, the man crying out in pain and- it was John. Sherlock's eyes widened in shock and he let go of John, taking a few steps back.

"John?"

John cradled his wrist, and looked up when he heard his name. "Who-" a pause, "Sherlock?" He reached out with his left arm, gently touching Sherlock's chest, checking to see if he was solid, real. His face flickered through several emotions – all of them negative – before settling into a hard, blank expression. "What are you doing here? Did you change your mind? Have you decided to live here instead? I'll go pack if you have."

Sherlock just stood there, watching John, _John_, trying hard not to fall apart in front of him. He reached forward and kissed John hard, holding his face in his hands. "I missed you," he muttered, tightening his hold when John tried to pull away. "I know you missed me. I know you love me."

John pushed against him with his good arm. "Let go. I don't want to see you…"

Sherlock shook his head, pinning John against the door again, kissing him. "You're mine. You don't get to decide." He felt John's heart speed up and he could feel that John was scared. Sherlock kissed down John's jaw. John shouldn't be scared. Sherlock moved to John's neck, kissing it softly and frowning when he came across a plaster. He pulled it off slowly, revealing obvious bite marks. Sherlock growled softly. Who would dare feed from _his _John? Who would John _let_ feed off of- _Mycroft_. Bloody _Mycroft_.

Sherlock slid John's stripped jumper down his shoulders and bit hard into John's neck, relishing the soft whimper. Maybe John would remember who he belonged to now. Sherlock fed messily, the blood flowing over John's shoulders, staining his jumper. It dripped down Sherlock's chin as he licked it off of John's skin. Mine. _Mine_.

John finally just slumped against the wall and let Sherlock do what he wished, his eyes shut. Sherlock kept feeding off of John's delicious blood until he felt water hit his face. He looked up, seeing tears falling down John's cheeks. He didn't make a noise, didn't shake. Just cried, his eyes squeezed shut. Sherlock pulled away slowly, "John?"

John jerked away from Sherlock, taking steps away from the vampire as soon as he was released. "Yes, Sherlock?" He was still bleeding, soaking his jumper red. Sherlock frowned, watching John. John had aged; he looked exhausted and upset, wiping at his eyes.

"Why are you upset?"

John looked at him, a bit of surprise and anger in his eyes. "My husband, whom I'm _forced_ to love for eternity, leaves me because he gets bored of me, shows up three years later unannounced, breaks my wrist and forces me to let him feed off of me, and you're asking me why I'm upset?" He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. John shook his head. "Look, I just want to go back to pretending you're dead, and pretending that I'm happy with Mycroft. I'll even move out and you can have the flat. I just want to forget that I ever made this mistake." Sherlock went to take his hand, to reassure him that they hadn't been a mistake, before realizing belatedly that John… John wasn't wearing their wedding ring. Sherlock dropped his arm.

_Mistake_. John honestly thought that they had been a mistake. That John should have chosen someone else. Not Sherlock. John thought that he should have chosen _Mycroft_. Mycroft, the smarter, older, _better_ brother.

Sherlock frowned, but nodded. "Alright. You can move in with Mycroft, and I'll stay here."

Hurt flashed over John's face for a moment, before he hid it, walking past Sherlock and grabbing his phone, calling Mycroft.

It was another three years before Sherlock saw John again.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock watched John over the table. Mycroft was trying to shield John from Sherlock, generally by keeping them from being in sight of each other. Right now, Mycroft had his arm around John's shoulders, keeping him close, and sending out an obvious claim over the doctor. Sherlock growled softly. How dare Mycroft so blatantly flaunt a claim over what was _his_. Sherlock knew that he and John were still married; Although Mycroft could have dug up some papers, John would not have let him. John would not leave him.

Sherlock weaved through the people and over to Mycroft and John, still scowling. Mycroft visibly tensed – Sherlock had not tried to talk to them the entire time they had been at Mummy's – but he did not try to avoid Sherlock. It would have been too noticeably rude. Sherlock stopped in front of them, and the tension in the room thickened.

"Mycroft," Sherlock snarled in greeting, before turning to John, scowl lessening considerably. Sherlock gently – it had to be gentle; Mycroft would not allow anything else – grabbed John's face and pulled him into a soft kiss. John tensed extremely and, after a moment, responded into the kiss, relaxing slowly against into the familiar touch. Sherlock pulled away slowly, not letting go of John's face.

"You're mine, John. Mine. Forever." He let go of John's face. "You're moving back in with me, John."

John stiffened. "No."

Sherlock sighed. John was worried about Sherlock hurting him again. Ridiculous. He shouldn't have even been hurt in the first place. Sherlock was married to John, not the man he had been sleeping with those years.

"I won't run off again." Not a promise – he could do otherwise if he wanted. Mycroft was watching Sherlock searchingly. He would know that Sherlock wasn't promising anything to John. Sherlock felt like flipping him off but settled for a quick glare.

"No, Sherlock," Mycroft finally voiced, "You can't have him back."

"He wants to come back with me. Look at him."

Mycroft sighed softly. "You'll just hurt him again."

Sherlock scowled. "Piss off, Mycroft. You don't get a say. He's not _yours_. Come on, John."

The elder vampire's arm tightened slightly around John. "You don't have to go if you don't want to, John."

John looked between them for a moment before sighing softly. "I'm sorry, Mycroft…" He ducked out from under Mycroft's arm and took Sherlock's hand, squeezing it gently. Sherlock smiled triumphantly at Mycroft, who frowned faintly.

"You're free to move back in later, if you need to," Mycroft offered, a soft sigh escaping him, "If you two will excuse me…"

Sherlock's grin widened as Mycroft walked away. He had won John again.

John gently looked over his arm. Broken. John took a deep breath. Sherlock didn't mean to hurt him. Not really. He was just trying to drive in the point that John was his. John bit his lip and went into the kitchen to make himself some tea.

A black car drove up to the flat. John saw it out the window and sighed. Mycroft. He had to be there for John; Sherlock was out.

John limped down the stairs. The car door was opened and John slipped in.

John sat on the bed. It was soft and the sheets were in muted tones that John might pick. His arm had been set and placed in a cast, and his other smaller wounds attended to. John sighed softly. The door to the room swung open and Mycroft walked in, smiling at John.

"You look better."

"Yes. Thank you. May I go home now?"

Mycroft frowned and went over to John and gently, hestitantly, took John's face in his hands.

"You can't go back, John. He'll kill you. Not on purpose, but the outcome is the same."

"He needs me, Mycroft."

"And you need to heal." Mycroft dropped his hands, "And you're staying here at least until your arm is better. John sighed softly, shaking his head.

"Fine."

Mycroft smiled. "Good. I have to go now…." He paused. "I'm sorry I didn't get to you first. You wouldn't be hurting like this."

John shook his head. "It's not your fault."

Mycroft leaned down and kissed John softly. "You're too kind, John." He pulled away and smiled. "Have a good day, John. I'll see you later." Mycroft turned and left, closing the door with a soft click.

Sherlock stared at John for a moment before ushering him in, and pulling John into a tight hug, frowning when John flinches. Sherlock leaned in and kissed him gently. "I missed you."

John leaned softly into the kiss. "I know…"

Sherlock pulled away, looking John over.

"I'm hungry…." He stated softly.

John hesitated, before taking Sherlock's hand, leading him upstairs into the flat. "Let's get inside first, at least."

Sherlock squeezed John's hand. John was obviously tired, hadn't been sleeping much. John stopped when he got inside, Sherlock closing the door behind them and sitting on the sofa.

"You didn't change it, after I moved out."

"Can't change anything without talking to any husband."

John turned to him before smiling faintly, going over to Sherlock and crawling into his lap, cocking his head. "Go on; You're hungry."

Sherlock slowly bit into John's neck, lapping at the blood carefully. John slowly relaxed. Sherlock was being careful with him; it was an apology. John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock pulled away a while later, going to get John a plaster, covering the small wound, before kissing John again softly.

"I'm sorry."

"I didn't want to leave. Mycroft kidnapped me."

Sherlock shook his head. "It's good that he did. I…" Sherlock swallowed, "I was wrong. So wrong, to hurt you."

John stared at him in surprised, before hugging him tightly, "You know that I don't love Mycroft. I was just hurt that you left me for someone else."

Sherlock pulled away, confusion on his face. "Where did you get that idea? You know that there's no one else I've wanted before."

John shook his head. "When you left me for three years. Sherlock, Mycroft told me you were with another man…"

Sherlock pulled John into a hard kiss. "I'll kill him. I was on a case for HIM! I told him to take care of you, not lie to you and try to take you away!"

John blinked.

"A case?"

"Yes. Mycroft blackmailed me into it, and I couldn't bring a human with me." Sherlock frowned at John, slight confusion on his face, "You know there wouldn't be any other reason for me to stay away from you that long, without you wanting me not to see you." A pause, "You do know that, yes?"

John sighed, relaxing deeply into Sherlock.

"No. I didn't know that, Sherlock. I can't read people's most inner thoughts on their face. I thought you had left me for someone else."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I didn't."

John kissed Sherlock softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't think that he could be lying."

"Of course he lied! It's Mycroft. You didn't think full stop."

John smacked his arm playfully, and smiled.

"Sherlock, don't go again."

Sherlock pulled John close. "I'll take you with me."

John leaned against Sherlock and yawned. "Good."

John knew that it wasn't all better. Sherlock still had abused him, tortured him. But it was getting better. It would be better.

**End**


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